


Spread To My Heart

by coloursflyaway



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a party going on inside, but neither Mads, nor Hugh, want to attend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spread To My Heart

“Fancy meeting you out here”, Hugh says and smiles, steps closer to the railing. His accent is twice as thick, he is sure of that, but he likes it, since after being Will Graham for a long time, it is freeing not having to worry about things like pronunciation.  
It makes him feel more at home too, just like Mads makes him feel more at home in a strange way. They always got along well enough at the _King Arthur_ set, shared jokes and occasional smiles, once or twice a night out filled with drunken stories, but that was about it…and yet it was soothing to find a familiar face when he had arrived in Toronto, new and feeling lost.

The jokes and smiles and story-filled nights have gotten more frequent, but now Mads doesn’t answer, only turns halfway around so he can look at Hugh, cigarette burning bright between his fingers. It’s the first time Hugh thinks something like this, but smoking fits the other man; something about the way the smoke curls from his lips, about how it makes his voice just the slightest bit rougher, feels right.

“So what are you doing here, avoiding the party?”, Hugh asks and waits, because that is exactly what he is doing, getting away from the chatter and laughter, because tonight, for some reason, it’s too much.  
“Yes”, comes an answer this time, and it feels as if the other’s accent is stronger too, and Hugh catches himself wondering if he reminds Mads of home as well. He’d like to.  
And he expects more to come, a longer answer as to why Mads is fleeing the hustle, but the other just takes another drag of his cigarette, and Hugh watches him inhale, his eyelids fluttering for a moment or two, then follows the white curls of smoke escaping from between Mads’ lips. It’s hard to look away, and the other seems to have noticed (must have, really, Hugh is hardly being subtle) because one corner of his lips curls up in a smile and then Hugh is offered the cigarette himself.

It’s a good thing, he supposes, that it looks as if he was just craving nicotine (what it is he is really craving, he doesn’t quite know), but Hugh shakes his head nonetheless.  
“I don’t smoke, sorry”, he answers to the unspoken question, but doesn’t avert his gaze, maybe because he doesn’t want to, maybe because he wouldn’t know how to. He can still hear the faint music and chatter from inside, reminding him that a few metres away, there is a party going on.  
A party which both of them should be attending, because Mads just came out for a quick smoke and Hugh… Hugh doesn’t actually know anymore what he came out for, maybe a chat, or maybe a breath of air.  
“You should”, Mads says almost softly, takes another drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke curl invitingly from between his lips in a way which makes Hugh question just why he is not smoking. “It would look good on you.”

If it’s a compliment, Hugh isn’t sure, but it doesn’t change that he feels flattered, to the extent that there is a soft blush rising on his cheeks, which hopefully isn’t noticeable. He is calm nonetheless, which is strange, but fits this strange conversation.  
“Thank you?”, Hugh tries to answer but asks instead, tries to cover it up with, “But I don’t really like the taste of smoke.”  
It’s neither a lie nor the truth, but something in between and somehow, he almost thinks Mads knows it, even though it’s impossible.

“That’s a pity”, the other answers and Hugh catches himself thinking that yes, it actually is. Not because he would like to enjoy the taste of smoke, but because he would like to be able to take what Mads is offering.  
They stay silent for a few moments, with Hugh’s eyes fixed on the other man’s lips and what they are doing, and Mads taking one drag, then another, white smoke against a dark sky.  
Mads looks like a drawing and Hugh has forgotten how to move.

It might be a good thing that his bones and sinews and muscles refuse to work together, because it almost feels as if something was pulling him closer to Mads by a bond he can’t see and hasn’t ever noticed before, thin and delicate and yet undeniable. Hugh can almost see it every time he blinks, his feet carrying him closer and closer to the older man until he can taste the dry, fading smoke on his lips, until he can make sure that there are no lines putting Mads together, just tissue, just blood.  
Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that, because they spend so much time being doctor and patient, predator and prey that when the lights fall and Mads flashes him a smile, it startles him.  
Maybe it’s a good sign for how the show will turn out (because if Mads can make him forget, he’ll surely do the same to the audience), but for Hugh, it is still strange.

But right now, here with the faint music of the party fading more and more into the background, there is nothing of Hannibal shining in Mads’ eyes, nothing close to a fallen angel, just a man who Hugh has come to be almost too comfortable with. A man who is still watching him, looking mildly curious and who Hugh still can’t take his eyes off of.  
He wonders if Mads’ lips are as soft as they look, parting to let another breath of smoke out.

But apparently his feet don’t have to be able to move to get them to move closer together, because Mads pushes himself off the railing, walks another two, three steps towards him. Maybe the other man feels the pull too, maybe it’s just easier to talk that way, Hugh isn’t sure, but definitely knows what he would prefer.  
The cigarette is still glowing brightly between Mads’ lips and it’s enough to distract him from the fact that right now, Hugh doesn’t have any idea what is happening to him; what is happening to them.

There is nothing improper about the distance still between and yet it feels like it, maybe because Hugh is starting to forget about the music, the chatter, everyone else around them. He would like to look down, but he can’t, not with the hint of a smile curling the corners of Mads’ lips, not with the way his cheekbones stand out even more when the other man takes another drag of his cigarette.  
“Maybe you just need the right kind of incentive”, Mads says and the smoke makes the words visible, makes them curl and dance against the dark sky, and Hugh answers before he can think.  
“Depends on the incentive, I think.”

Mads laughs, a soft, rough, lovely sound, and twirls the cigarette between his fingers, and Hugh almost thinks he can see his eyes twinkling as the other tilts his head slightly.  
“Well…”  
The word hangs in the air between them, not accompanied by smoke, but instead with something thicker, almost tangible between them, not swirling and dancing, but making Hugh swallow thickly as Mads moves closer, all grace and hidden strength and confidence.  
Maybe the distance between them could still be considered proper, but Hugh isn’t sure anymore, especially not when the other keeps him pinned with his gaze, and again, Hugh is glad that his feet have decided to stop obeying his commands, since he isn’t sure what he would have them do if not – carry him still closer to Mads, or back away.

It’s strange how it feels nothing less than natural when Mads raises his hand, brushes four fingers across his throat before curling them around it, not squeezing, not putting any pressure on his windpipe, just using his grip to tilt Hugh’s head back slightly, making it both easier and harder to look at the other.  
Why he isn’t fighting this, although he clearly should be, Hugh doesn’t know, but right now, it doesn’t matter because Mads is still watching him, his fingertips brushing over Hugh’s pulse point with every breath he forgets to take.

“How about this, then?”  
Mads’ accent is stronger than usual, and this time Hugh can feel it against his skin. The hand around his throat tilts his head back a little more while Mads closes his lips around the cigarette, takes a drag which has Hugh’s eyes flicking from the burning end of the cigarette back to the other’s lips, up to his eyes, not sure where to settle and too dazed by their proximity to think enough to decide.

He can smell the smoke, the sharp scent of tobacco and paper burning away to ashes as Mads sucks on the filter, but hidden beneath that, Hugh smells the beer he has seen the other drink before, the faint, almost unnoticeable hint of shampoo.  
It only lasts for a moment and then he can’t smell anything anymore, because his senses are shutting down, one by one.  
Mads has let his hand with the cigarette drop and is tilting his head back and Hugh lets him, just like he lets him lean in closer and closer until their lips are almost touching, maybe half an inch of air between them left. A second passes in complete silence, in complete stillness, and then Mads exhales and Hugh feels like he is drowning.

He can’t breathe like this, every bit of air he sucks in laced with smoke and nicotine and tiny, miniscule traces of tar, but that’s not what makes him dizzy, at least not all of it, it’s Mads and his breath travelling so easily past Hugh’s lips and the way Mads’ thumb is brushing across his throat and how close they are.  
It’s impossible to ignore it by now, because Hugh tries but can’t close his eyes, even if it meant that he could concentrate more on the steady stream of air, of smoke filling his lungs, but Mads is looking back at him, and although it’s too dark to see it, Hugh knows his eyes are soft and yet sparkling with the same, mild, tentative curiosity.

It feels like it’s going to last forever, the smoke and Mads’ hand and the warmth radiating from the other’s body and their proximity, but the stream of air slowly dies down, grows fainter and fainter and then stops and Hugh wishes it back in an instant.  
Right now, it’s Mads’ breath filling his lungs, he realises maybe a moment too late, and almost raises his hand to brush a fingertip across his lips, trying to make sure he did not waste an atom of it. But instead of savouring it, making sure he will engrain Mads in his own cells, he wastes the other’s breath on whispering, “Thank you.”

He expects an answer – a word, or a smile, or a laugh – because that is how this works, how people work, how Mads and he work (jokes and stories and laughter and sometimes a glance which linger on the other just a fraction of a second too long), but none of that comes. Mads doesn’t move away either, stays right where he is with his hand around Hugh’s throat, his lips so close that Hugh thinks he can feel them against his own.  
The silence is a tangible, breathless thing between them, the only thing which still keeps them apart, and the thought makes Hugh swallow and part his lips and both wish for it to continue forever (because in this state, this moment, nothing seems to be wrong, nothing seems to be missing) and for one of them to break it (because he does not know what this could mean for both of them but does want to find out oh so very much).  
But in the end, neither happens, because Mads does not need words to break the wall between them; instead he does the one thing which seems so natural and yet Hugh would never have believed would happen.

He doesn’t lean in, instead pulls Hugh closer with the hand around his neck, fingertips digging into his skin and making it the slightest bit hard to breathe, but one moment later Hugh has forgotten how to breathe anyway, because their lips meet, skin against skin, flesh against flesh, and everything else seems to fade into the shadows, leaving only the two of them.  
(If all of this, all of them, has been leading up to this moment, or if this moment is something different entirely, he doesn’t know.)

Mads’ lips are soft and taste like smoke, are gentle, but not tentative when they move against Hugh’s, moving like they know how to kiss and how to be kissed. And Hugh knows that’s true, Mads knows how to kiss, he’s seen it on film before, but this is different, because he can feel it, the other licking at his lips, giving him all the time he needs to open his mouth, to let him in.  
It’s not easy to do so for some reason, as if his body was trying to make him reconsider this, but Mads is patient, though, the other man’s fingers stroking over Hugh’s throat and his lips teasing, until he gives in, opens his mouth, tastes smoke and ash and a hint of beer.  
Mads tastes like he smells, and although Hugh doesn’t smoke and has always, will always, prefer wine to beer, he still allows the other to lick into his mouth, returning everything Mads is giving him.

The kiss is still slow, almost lazy, but Hugh’s hands find the other’s hips and it feels important – up until now, it was only Mads touching him, Mads kissing him; touching the other makes it feel real all of a sudden, and Hugh wonders just how long they have been dancing around this for it to feel so natural now.  
Mads pulls back slightly, nips at his lips before he kisses Hugh again, a little deeper this time.

The large hand on his throat is making Hugh feel vulnerable, breathless, and yet he hopes intently that Mads won’t pull it away when Hugh finally breaks the third or fourth kiss, breath coming in gasps. And yet, he stays close to Mads, still not wanting to let this moment end.  
It might not have changed everything, but it still has changed a lot and there is no way Hugh can deny it; he’s not sure if he wants to, anyway.

Mads’ hand doesn’t stay where it is, but instead, calloused fingertips brush over his skin, following the sinews which must be pulled taut, his aorta, down to the collar of his shirt.  
With Mads’ lip gone, Hugh starts hearing the chatter again, the music playing inside; the rest of the world is seeping into their small bubble of smoke and stares, drop by drop, note by note. It’s not uncomfortable, merely strange, because some part of Hugh must have expected this to last forever.  
And then, the fingers on his throat leave him one by one, the patterns they have traced staying warm on Hugh’s skin for another few moments, while the music gets louder, more defined.

His own hands fall back to his sides, palms tingling just like his lips, and Hugh still hasn’t stepped back, so there are only a few inches between them, Mads’ eyes on him making it feel as if they were still kissing.  
_So_ , he wants to say, _what do we do now, what does this make up, what are we_ , Hugh wants to say, to ask, but before he has wrapped his tongue and lips, which still taste like smoke, around the words, Mads touching him again, just a hand on his arm, and yet it makes Hugh forget about whatever it is he wanted to say, to know.

Mads is smiling and Hugh smiles back without thinking about it, just like he always has.  
“Where does this leave us?”, he finally does ask, remembering and speaking in between one breath, because he’s too scared he’ll forget about it again if he waits for another moment; Mads squeezes his arm and then lets go, takes a step back, until they could look like just friends again.  
“I don’t know”, Mads answers, obviously truthful, and sends Hugh another smile, once he would recognise everywhere, on any face. “Do you?”

Hugh doesn’t answer quickly, instead takes his time to think, to consider (because maybe he does, maybe this is something he has always meant to think of but never has dared to), but in the end, his reply is the same as the one Mads has given. “I don’t.”  
And it shouldn’t be enough, and yet it seems to be, judging from the older man’s face, whose eyes look as bright as always, whose lips might still taste like the wine Hugh had earlier.  
“Then how about we find out together?”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


End file.
